Watching N. Aeschylus Grow

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Vol 36 Issue 14

Hotshot Test Pilot Removes Helmet, Reveals Female Status

SHEPPARD AFB, TX–"Corporal Green," an enigmatic but brilliant Air Force test pilot, was revealed to be a woman Monday, when she removed her flight helmet following a trial run of the new AF-50 Shadowhawk, rumored to be "the fastest thing on landing gears." "I was completely flabbergasted to discover that the cocky ace behind those death-defying barrel rolls and devil-may-care canyon strafes was, in fact, a woman–and a gorgeous one at that," Lieut. Col. Thomas Hagerty said. "The flight suits are sufficiently baggy that I never suspected it until she took off the helmet and shook her head, sending her long blonde hair cascading down her back." Hagerty noted that his recent statement that Green "has got solid-brass balls" is now steeped in irony.

New 'Time' To Keep Everything From Happening At Once

CAMBRIDGE, MA–On what is now known as "Monday," a team of MIT scientists unveiled "time," a revolutionary new event-sequencing protocol which organizes phenomena along a four-dimensional axis, preventing everything from taking place at once. "No longer will the extinction of the dinosaurs, the assassination of John F. Kennedy, and the Earth-Xabraxiq Pod Wars all collapse into a single point," theoretical physicist Dr. Lawrence Chang said. "With time, we can now contextualize each of the universe's infinite number of occurrences in its own spatial-temporal plane, creating order where there once was chaos." Added Dr. Erno Toffel: "Using time, one event can be positioned chronologically so as to be the cause of another. For example, a man's death may result in a gun being fired at him. Or the other way around. We're still working out some of the kinks."

Waiter Seriously Needs His Apps

INDEPENDENCE, MO–Twenty minutes after turning in table eight's order, T.G.I.Friday's waiter Eric Porcher announced Monday that he seriously needs his apps. "Still waiting on those apps, guys," Porcher shouted into the kitchen, hoping to spur the grill crew into swifter action on table eight's long-overdue appetizer order of Buffalo chicken strips and Jalapeño Poppers. "My four-top is short on apps." Five minutes later, Porcher added, "Still waiting on those chick strips and Poppers."

Teen Breaks Rules In Socially Accepted Ways

HACIENDA HEIGHTS, CA–Daniel Lindblad, 15, openly flouts societal conventions in a manner that will not get him in trouble, it was reported Monday. "I just got this T-shirt that's got a picture of Charles Manson with the swastika on his forehead," Lindblad said. "It's so fuckin' sick. I always wear a sweatshirt over it when my parents are around–they'd totally kill me if they saw it." Lindblad said he plans to pierce his nose and dye his hair blue this June, "the moment school lets out."

Report: Most Terrorists Do Not Start The Day Off With A Good Breakfast

GENEVA, SWITZERLAND–In a report that is prompting some to rethink the causes of terrorism, the World Health Organization announced Monday that a startling 96 percent of international terrorists do not start off the day with a good breakfast. "Very few of those who use violence to advance their radical agendas enjoy a healthy, well-balanced breakfast with selections from a variety of food groups," WHO director Johann Bruckhörst-Kliebe said. "These findings make it clear that when it comes to the problem of fighting terrorism, nutrition may play a far more important role than previously believed."

Jean Teasdale Living

Well, Jeanketeers, I've got a confession to make: For a while there, I wasn't following my trusty old axiom, "Keep smiling!" In fact, you could say that my frown practically dragged on the ground!

I'm Not A Wino, I'm A 'Why-Yes'!

I've sucked down a lot of booze in my 42 years. A hell of a lot. In fact, some would go so far as to call me a wino. But I've got no time for that kind of negativity. I'm not a wino... I'm a "why-yes"!

The Columbine Legacy

April 20 marks the one-year anniversary of the Columbine High School shooting. What is the legacy of this tragedy?
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Watching N. Aeschylus Grow

It is a bitter-sweet season at the Zweibel mansion. Though my sweet betrothed, Miss Bernadette Fiske, has perished from a swooning fit brought on by extreme womanliness, her delicate, lithe-limbed beauty lives on in our square-headed, seven-foot-tall baby boy, N. Aeschylus. The clangor of his iron feet as he frolics about the mansion is just the tonic my nerves require. I had forgotten the wonder that is a Zweibel-child!

I shall remember you forever, my lost love, and have established the Miss Bernadette Fiske Sanitarium For The Prevention & Cure Of Femininity in your memory. But our dear, sweet son has driven all anguish from my ulcerated heart!

Tear the black mourning-crepe from my grounds-keepers! Defestoon my 60-foot statue of its funeral-bunting! T. Herman Zweibel shall mourn no more! The gay company of my son N. Aeschylus has become the joy of my twilight years. His stiff-legged, hedge-decimating romps through the estate's greensward, the curious manner in which his piercing red eyes behold each bird and butter-fly, and the fact that he is so God-damned big, swell my concave chest with paternal pride. How he reminds me of myself at that age!

Yet N. Aeschylus reminds me particularly of my other sons. I have always whelped the most diabolical little shit-flingers ever to orally mastectomize a wet-nurse, and N. Aeschylus will be no different. I wish his older brothers were here to while away the after-noons with him in boyish sport. But the age difference is far too great. In fact, some of them may even be dead.

What charming brats they were! U. Fairfax was fond of luring his governess into the steam-thresher, well aware that his tiny frame could slip between the great mechanical threshing-knives where she could not. G. Talmadge and R. Buckminster, my twin sons, were fond of fomenting individual mayhem and then blaming the other boy. V. Lucius was quite fond of clubs, with which he would often beat me. It was he who gifted me Mr. Tin, the giant mechanical ro-bot man who eludes me to this very day, and who must not threaten my dear, dear son!

Curse you, Mr. Tin! Show yourself!

An emergency! I must go! Just now, Standish attempted to restrain poor N. Aeschylus from consuming a pint of 40-weight rock oil and was surprised by the boy's vigorous response. I must now direct my servants in fetching Standish's limp body from the mansion's roof. My boys have always been a precocious brood!

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